Author's Note: This is late, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. But I thought I'd share anyway. Please let me know what you think.

Gray

"I
would have shot him if you hadn't been there, Booth." She pauses,
waiting for a reaction that doesn't come.

"I
know." Booth continues staring at the merry-go-round, though it
isn't even close to stopping.

"Epps
would have died either way." Brennan can't understand his refusal
to accept the facts. Booth wishes to atone for what he deems to be
previous wrongs. She has seen this kind of guilt in him before, and
yet it still surprises her every time.

"I
know," he says again.

"You
did the right thing." It won't make any difference repeating it,
but she's at a loss for anything else to say. Logically, Booth
can't be faulted for Epps' death, intentional or otherwise. The
world is a safer place without Howard Epps in it. There is no
question. And yet she can see in the tense draw of his shoulders, in
the clench of his jaw, that he can't forgive himself. "Cam
doesn't blame you for what happened. Parker probably won't even
remember a few weeks from now."

"I
know." A third time, still less convincing than before.

Brennan
sighs, fighting the urge to become frustrated and give up. If this
were a case, or even a mangled body refusing to give up its secrets,
she would only become more intrigued. But Booth is a person, and,
failing immediate success, her instincts tell her to abandon all
efforts at understanding. It should be so easy for him to accept his
infallibility in the whole matter, but he seems to prefer
self-flagellation.

"What
are you afraid of?" asks after a moment, trying to think what
Angela would do. He is afraid. She can see it in the way he's
breathing, shallow and fast.

The
merry-go-round stops. Booth gets up, and waves for Parker to stay
seated on his horse. He hands the conductor some change, and makes
his way back. He sits back down and crosses his arms, effectively
closing himself off.

"It's
like you told me," says Brennan, suddenly remembering. "You let
him scare you, you let him make you think you have anything in common
with him, and Epps wins."

"I
think he did," says Booth, very softly. He turns to look at her at
last, his eyes glistening with vulnerability in the early morning
light. Suddenly she has the urge to touch him, to take him in her
arms until that scared look goes away. But then he turns away, too
quickly, and the moment is gone, the loss of it hanging in the air
between them like a foul smell. "I think Epps won."

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